


under the glow of a cosmic dawn

by goresque



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Kidnapping, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goresque/pseuds/goresque
Summary: In the depths of Decepticon space, on an enemy ship, Ratchet goes into heat.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Comments: 54
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be fraught with talks about feelings, the difference between consent and assent, and life threatening medical conditions that require getting dicked down to cure.

Deadlock had a reputation. 

The no prisoners taken alive, no enemies on the battlefield, no mech left to tell the tale kind of reputation.

It made it all that more annoying to come up with an excuse for why he was dragging one of the most wanted Autobot medics by the stabilizer back onto his ship. They were under a strict rule of capture, no kill with regard to medics. There were plenty of medically trained Autobots who could be swayed to Decepticon sympathies, if not outright defection.

Deadlock knew this wouldn’t be one of them. He had no doubt that Ratchet had sympathies, he’d been known to treat Autobot and Decepticon soldiers alike when he was left to his own devices. Too charitable for his own good- it made Deadlock want to gag. But no, there was no swaying Ratchet’s beliefs; Deadlock knew. He’d tried. 

He was still working on that excuse. Surely the Prime’s personal medic was a worthy bargaining chip, that was what he would argue at the very least. Convincing Turmoil to let him keep his conquest was an entirely different story. 

Until then, a cell would have to do. 

Not the brig. Deadlock’s energon boiled at the mere thought of his catch being amongst the rank and file, or the less than useful prisoners of war. Knowing Ratchet, he would have tried to repair the poor clods. 

Deadlock tossed Ratchet into his personal quarters, paying no mind how roughly he handled the medic. He wasn’t known for being gentle and he wasn’t about to start just because of his  _ fixation. _ His dirty work done, Deadlock locked his quarters, ensuring Ratchet wouldn’t be able to escape, though he was certain the medic wouldn’t be online for a while yet. He hadn’t been particularly careful when he’d sucker punched Ratchet and forced him into stasis.

Next came the hard part.

* * *

“I want him.”

“Why do I care?” Turmoil grunted from where he stood at the command console, not even sparing Deadlock a glance. He was glad for it. 

“You don’t,” Deadlock snarled, baring his fangs at his commander. Just because Turmoil had rank on him didn’t mean he was going to play docile. The only mech he followed directly was Megatron and he wasn’t about to change that just for Turmoil’s ego. “I’m letting you know as a  _ courtesy. _ I’m going to have him.”

Turmoil finally turned his visor on Deadlock, examining his aggressive stance and the way he made sure his commander could see all his natural defenses, and his unnatural ones. Deadlock’s blasters were on display, only one move away from drawing them. 

As fun as it could be to push Deadlock’s buttons, now was clearly not the time. Not when Deadlock was a hairpin trigger away from letting his impulsivity get the better of him. Better to let that bomb go off without Turmoil’s hand at the detonator.

“Do what you want, but he’s going to Megatron for the final call. He’s got first rights to anything and everything related to the Prime.”

Deadlock didn’t relax, though Turmoil wasn’t sure why he thought he might; Deadlock wasn’t very good at relaxing. Maybe having an Autobot pet would fix that.

“He’s gotta earn his fuel though,” Turmoil added, turning back to the console. “Whether it’s fixing up soldiers or bouncing on your spike. No handouts.”

Deadlock didn’t say anything else. Instead he took his permission while he had it and swept off of the bridge. After he had left, Turmoil received a comm request from Deadlock for leave from his duties for the rest of second and third shift. Feeling generous, and just a bit proud of his notoriously unruly second in command, Turmoil approved it.

* * *

Ratchet awoke with a groan, face down on the floor and a processor ache powerful enough to make him curl in on himself. He recalibrated his most recent memory files and compiled them in chronological order as opposed to priority before he filtered through them, giving him at least a few context clues to where he was. He’d been working with some field injuries, several rookies who were on their last legs. He’d been sweating and heaving over one of them for too long it felt like, long enough his vision had begun to blur around his servos. It hadn’t mattered if he couldn’t see because he could  _ fix _ it.

He remembered that same patient having their spark blasted out of their chest, mere mechanometers away from Ratchet’s specialized servos. Optics rising over the din of smoke and battle, Ratchet had frozen up upon seeing Deadlock approaching. 

Ratchet had a lot of complicated feelings that he could so often shove down deep within himself that he never seemed to be able to set aside when it came to Deadlock. He’d tried reasoning with him, anything to keep at least himself alive, only for Deadlock to punch him right below his fuel tank and bash his helm down into the ground to trigger stasis. 

Even as he booted up and ran a quick diagnostic on himself, Ratchet still couldn’t fathom why Deadlock had been so grievously risky this time. Even when they’d crossed paths on the battlefield before, Deadlock had never approached him- in fact Deadlock had often seemed to act as a barrier between Ratchet and more… unforgiving Decepticons. 

The diagnostic came back with garbled results. Ratchet could only assume several programs had been scrambled due to processor damage. He dismissed a line of text regarding his reproductive protocols, as he had no reason nor resources to attend to it. It wasn’t anything pressing, he assured himself, though he had barely acknowledged the blurry message. 

“I know you’re online.”

Deadlock’s pedes appeared from the other side of what looked like a modest berth. Ratchet tried not to look up, hoping if he ignored Deadlock then maybe he would be ignored right back. 

No luck. 

Servos wrapped around his pauldrons and Ratched was yanked into a sitting position, forcing him to come face to face with a lifelong regret. Ratchet tried to shy away, only to realize one of his knees was twisted at an awkward angle. He hadn’t even felt it behind the pain of his processor.

“You’re ignoring me.” Deadlock sounded petulant, but the look on his face was anything but. He looked hungry, his tongue sliding along his fangs as he examined Ratchet like decadent fuel. Deadlock’s engine revved. “I don’t like being ignored.”

“I don’t like being kidnapped,” Ratchet lashed out, gritting his jaw and turning his helm away. He couldn’t bear to look at Deadlock directly. Not until the Decepticon gripped his jaw in one hand and forced him to. “Drift…”

Ratchet wasn’t ready to be shoved onto his back, helm bouncing against the floor with an instinctual yelp. Deadlock had him pinned, already straddling his chest with blaster drawn. 

“Drift is dead,” Deadlock hissed against Ratchet’s audials, his heavy armor weighing down hard on the medic’s chest. “My designation is Deadlock.” The blaster bumped up against Ratchet’s jaw. “Say it.”

Ratchet kept his intake shut, steadfastly turning away from Deadlock once more. A part of him refused to give up on that Dead End leaker he’d saved from overdose. Deadlock’s engines roared in his disgust. 

“I said…” Deadlock’s blaster shifted, the barrel of it touching Ratchet’s pursed derma. “Say. It.”

“I don’t want to,” Ratchet whispered, averting his eyes. He sounded defeated, tired. It made Deadlock shiver with the power of it. Not long now.

“Megatron gave it to me,” Deadlock snapped back, hackles raised and helm fins tilting forward in his displeasure. “It’s  _ my _ designation. Say it, or I’ll shoot you.”

It was a difficult bluff to rely on. Ratchet had to know that if he’d made it this far without being thrown in a cell that Deadlock wouldn’t kill him. Deadlock couldn’t afford the blow to their power exchange- any threat he made he had to be willing to follow through on. 

The fight left Ratchet’s frame. He lowered his optics and murmured, “Deadlock.”

The rush of his victory had Deadlock drunk on the power as he sheathed his blaster and grinned, all teeth, down at Ratchet. Deadlock’s engine purred, clawed servos stroking down Ratchet’s cheek. “There, not so hard. See how easy this can be, Ratchet?”

“Not here to make things easy for you,” Ratchet muttered, jaw clenched as Deadlock rolled off his frame and onto his stabilizers. Ratchet turned to curl in on himself again, something like shame welling up around his spark. 

“Shh,” Deadlock hushed, kneeling beside Ratchet before he scooped him up into his arms. It definitely didn’t make Ratchet’s spark spin faster in its casing. Absolutely not. “You’re here with me now, like it’s supposed to be. Let me take care of you.”

The way Deadlock touched him, the way he so tenderly laid him on the one berth and traced his claws down his frame to seek out any injuries, had Ratchet concerned. He didn’t like the way Deadlock looked at him with barely contained thirst, or the way Deadlock spoke like they were  _ supposed  _ to be here as they were now. 

Ratchet expected to be groped or molested, something that had happened more than once at the hands of Decepticon captors. When Deadlock focused on his botched knee joint instead of following up his lingering touches with an encore, Ratchet wasn’t sure what to expect. 

“I can fix that myself,” Ratchet muttered, swiping away Deadlock’s wandering servos. He transformed his servo into the small welding penl, quick to set to work on cauterizing broken lines. He hated how Deadlock just watched him. 

Partway through realigning his knee joint, Ratchet realized Deadlock had slipped onto the berth behind him, servos crawling around his shoulder pauldrons and leaning his torso against Ratchet’s back. The hot vents against his audial were more than distracting. The steady weight against his back had Ratchet tense, fingers weaving between his cables and fuel lines. Nearly done. 

Ratchet caught a glance of Deadlock over his shoulder, finding the Decepticon’s gaze intent on his servos. He shifted his attention back to the task at hand. Ratchet was acutely aware of the claws winding between his seams, Deadlock’s thumbs stroking directly under his shoulder stacks. He grit his jaw and twisted his armor back into place, steadfastly ignoring the tingles of relief those fingers brought him. Finished. 

“You’re aroused.” 

The accusation caught Ratchet off guard- so much so that he pushed up and off the berth, stumbling slightly on his bad knee. Ratchet put his servos up, defensive and unyielding. 

“I’m not.” Ratchet’s tone was firm. He clenched a fist against his back as he bit out, “How would you even know?”

“It’s in your aura.” Deadlock had that look on his face like he was irritated that Ratchet didn’t remember, as if Ratchet should have known. “You want to be here with me. You’re thinking about what could happen if you let it.”

“I’m not thinking about anything, except about how I don’t want to be here.” Ratchet wasn’t outright lying, he didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be kidnapped or held as a prisoner of war, because who would? At the same time a sordid shadow purred all the different ways Deadlock could wind his crankshaft, heavily featuring how seamless he was on the battlefield. Not only that, Ratchet  _ wanted _ to unravel in Deadlock’s lovingly sharpened claws. It was a delicate wire to balance on.

“It’s called electromagnetic synesthesia, by the way,” Ratchet muttered from where he was pretending not to notice Deadlock’s ogling. “You don’t ‘see auras,’ it’s bleed-through from your electromagnetic sensorsuite. It manifests as color in your visual input because it can’t process the data any other way.”

Ratchet could feel the weight of Deadlock’s scowl. He firmly ignored it. Instead he turned himself away from Deadlock, the biggest rejection he could stand to give. Drift had always encouraged a gentler part of him, and as much as Deadlock might try to separate himself from who he used to be, Ratchet always hoped to see ghosts of the young leaker he’d saved.

Finally casting a glance over his shoulder, Ratchet caught Deadlock’s optics. Deadlock was staring at him with an intensity that Ratchet could feel the fire behind. He stood his ground regardless and refused to look away.

Deadlock prowled along the edge of the berth. Ratchet shifted his wait as he took one step back. He knew as soon as Deadlock’s pedes hit the floor it was over.   
  
“It’s how I read mecha. You wouldn’t believe the nasty, dark things you can see in a mech’s aura, Ratchet.” The way Deadlock intoned over his designation made Ratchet falter. He took another step back– and back– and here was Deadlock, claws curling around Ratchet’s wrists in a hot, tight grip as he acquainted them both with the floor.

“Likewise, I can tell you like this.” Deadlock’s whole body framed Ratchet, the weight of his knees pinning Ratchet’s legs weighing him down like anchors. Panic rose up in Ratchet. 

“Drift–” Ratchet gasped out, flinging his arm out against one of Deadlock’s shoulder vents as Deadlock shifted his servo to Ratchet’s throat. His strength wasn’t what it usually was. He was a field medic, strong and sturdy, capable of lifting mecha three times his weight with ease. Now he felt– sluggish, weak against a mech he should have been able to push away without trying.

“I told you,” Deadlock growled, engine revving in a display of aggression. Deadlock clearly wanted Ratchet to be afraid– which he wasn’t– and Ratchet had to regain himself before the brat thought he was  _ winning _ . “Drift is dead.”

“Listen,” Ratchet pleaded, noting a rise in his internal temperature. The stress of his situation could account to so much– “Deadlock, please–”

“You want this,” Deadlock insisted, servo shifting so his thumb could stroke along the hollow of Ratchet’s throat. “Your panel is burning. Your aura is  _ so _ blue, just like a spark.”

“Something is  _ wrong _ with me!” Ratchet exclaimed, forceful voice filling the whole room. It snapped Deadlock out of the concentration he’d had on holding Ratchet pinned and Ratchet was able to prop up his knee and use it to shift his weight over top of Deadlock. The shock of the position change left Deadlock’s grip weak. Ratchet wasted no opportunities. 

He twisted away, kicking himself across the floor until a wall met his back. Ratchet’s alarm heightened as light began to blend in his vision. His cooling fans engaged, the first outward sign that his temperature was rising.

“This isn’t right,” Ratchet slurred. His whole frame rattled with the force of his panic. Red lights blinked on his HUD, one catching his eye-

_ [Lubrication protocols activated] _

“Oh, no…” No, no, no– not  _ that. _

“Oh, Ratchet,” Deadlock crooned, both servos taking hold of Ratchet’s cheeks. Deadlock’s servos had felt hot only a few moments ago and now they felt  _ cool. _ Ratchet didn’t even remember when Deadlock had stood and stepped toward him. The way Deadlock’s lips curled up in a nasty smile made Ratchet’s lines freeze.

“You’re  _ cycling.” _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet has a pretty bad time- this deals with loss of cognitive function during sexual activities, consent that isn't really consent, and bad coping mechanisms

If Ratchet had been asked if he thought his life was falling apart five joor ago he would have shrugged and deflected. Now, now Ratchet realized with horrific clarity that he had lost all control. Like a locomotive gathering momentum, there would come a point very soon where he wouldn’t be able to stop without collateral damage.

“You have to take me to a medic,” he gasped out at the same time as a pop-up arose on his HUD to open his modesty panel. It was not a welcome thing to have to deny. A medic could fix this, he thought with every rhythmic fade of higher functioning skills. “I’m going to overheat.”

“A medic?” Deadlock looked genuinely puzzled by the concept that Ratchet would want medical assistance for his state of arousal. Ratchet had to count backwards from ten and remind himself that Decepticons and their backwards concepts of consent and pride made medical care almost always the last resort. 

“Yes, a medic! Are you stupid? Can you not frelling see that I’m cycling? Without- without a way to ground this charge I’m going to overheat, and I’m not exactly in  _ the mood,  _ so if you’ll go fetch your ship medic I will happily get knocked out or given Unicron knows what kind of drugs to deal with this!” Ratchet was turning pink in the face with his bluster, certain that his rising temperature could only do so much in the face of embarrassment. 

“Do you know how Decepticons deal with a mech in heat?” Deadlock said, looking deadly serious. It made Ratchet shudder to wonder what sort of terrible things the Decepticons would do to someone as vulnerable as a mech could be while cycling. Already he was in what was considered a bad situation, and he was more than aware it could get  _ worse. _

Though he didn’t want to know the answer, not really, Ratchet spit out, “What?”

Deadlock shifted back onto his heels where he crouched, cocking his helm as he examined Ratchet. “A cycling mech is a distraction to the rest of the crew, and a drain on long term resources. As we both know, there are ways to make a cycle stop before it finishes running it’s course.”

The dread in Ratchet’s tank was growing heavier. He’d heard vicious rumors, but he’d hoped that’s all they were. To hear from someone’s intake that Decepticons held cycling mechs down and abated the heat manually… it was horrific. 

“Any Decepticon who starts cycling gets strapped to a table and used as stress relief until their overflow tank is full enough for the heat to burn out.” Deadlock said it with a faraway look in his optic that made Ratchet wonder just how much experience he had with this particular topic. “And after you’re no longer a distraction they close your panels and send you back to your post.”

Gritting his dentae, Ratchet wrapped his arms around himself in a weak attempt at self soothing. As he laid his forehead on his knees, he glanced down between his thighs and saw that his panel was leaking lubricant. His time was running out. 

“Then what do I do?” Ratchet asked through a clenched jaw. If that was how they treated fellow Decepticons, even  _ officers _ like Deadlock, he didn’t want to know what they would do to a prisoner of war. 

“You can lay back and let me take care of it, lay here and suffer until you beg for it, or go see the medic like you wanted,” Deadlock said, rising to his pedes. He stood over Ratchet, looming as he waited for his answer.

“I’ll suffer, thanks,” Ratchet snapped, turning his body away from Deadlock. He leaned against the wall, finding it cool against his heated plating. There was a part of him that couldn’t believe the situation he was in. Another part was busy calculating exactly how long until Deadlock was proved right, because there would come a point where he would no longer be able to refuse of his own volition. Though he would crave it, demand it, even claim he needed it, it wouldn’t be him. It wasn’t what he wanted, not really, not like  _ this. _

Not only that, there would come a point even if he did manage to resist the desire of a hot, thick spike, dragging across all his internal nodes his fingers couldn’t reach… Ratchet blinked as he lost his train of thought, a soft bleat of static echoing through his voxcoder. As his thighs created just the most tantalizing slip of friction he scrubbed at his optics to keep himself focused. Right- even if he did resist, there would eventually come a time when he started overheating hot enough his softer, internal metals could melt. He was on borrowed time already. 

“Just let me take care of you,” Deadlock snapped at him, taking a step closer to Ratchet. Ratchet scrambled backwards, sent into a frenzy just to keep the even distance between them. That definitely didn’t make Deadlock happy. “Why bother fighting? You’re going to need it anyway. I won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t want it like this,” Ratchet bit out. He didn’t want to have to explain the delicacies of what ‘like this’ meant, but he would rather admit  _ that _ than beg. And oh, how his coding wanted him to beg. Here was a willing, strong,  _ capable _ mech who could lift him with ease, could care for and protect him by barely lifting a digit— no. No, Ratchet couldn’t give into those desires. Even if they had been there before, the desire for closeness, for touch, he couldn’t let his heat of all things take that choice from him. 

Ratchet lifted his helm, the first spark of determination in his optics. He  _ refused _ to let his choice be taken. 

“Fine, just… just don’t think this is because I actually want this.” Ratchet turned himself back towards Deadlock, who was staring, rapt with attention. Ratchet spread his trembling thighs, giving way to the sight of trickling fluids around his panel seams. Even if it wasn’t really his choice, at least he got to make  _ some _ kind of decision, instead of languishing until he was too hot to do anything but beg for someone’s spike. He could handle this.

Deadlock’s servo against his panel made Ratchet completely reconsider.

“Relax. I said I won’t hurt you,” Deadlock muttered. Ratchet could tell that he wasn’t particularly happy with the circumstances either. “Open your panel, I’ll make it good. None of those other cons would do that.”

“You don’t have to convince me why you’re better,” Ratchet snapped, field bristling out against Deadlock like thorns. Nothing about this situation was going to make him feel better.

Deadlock was uncomfortably silent as he put his servos on Ratchet’s waist, shifting his body until he was laid on the ground. Deadlock’s talons traced up his windshield, thumb swiping in the divot along his chest. Ratchet’s frame reacted with favor, his armor rattling as he gasped. He didn’t want to think about how he was responding to tactile input as himself. Easier to disconnect himself from his frame, to deny that it was him who was arching up into Deadlock’s touch.

“The berth?” Ratchet croaked, a servo clutching at Deadlock’s arm.

Surprisingly, Deadlock had few complaints. He hooked an arm under Ratchet’s aft and hoisted him up. Ratchet was no lightweight- he could even hear the creak of Deadlock’s legs as he deposited Ratchet on the nearby berth. Deadlock’s fans were spinning harder, from the exertion no doubt. Though it had winded him, it set a fire in Ratchet’s belly that Deadlock had so effortlessly moved him. 

“Open up?” Deadlock murmured, his servos returning to Ratchet’s waist. His thumbs rubbed at the flares along Ratchet’s pelvic plating, coaxing him along. 

Ratchet wanted to deny him. He really wanted to spit in Deadlock’s face and keep his panel closed, until he could ride this out by himself, thank you very much. But… that wasn’t an option available to him. So instead he transformed away his panel before it could be torn off.

Fluids spilled out in a tantalizing rush. Ratchet knew his valve was twitching, primed for someone to spike him. His spike was sluggish to extend, but did eventually push out to full pressurization. It laid against his abdomen, throbbing to remind Ratchet of exactly how desperate his situation had become. 

Ratchet expected Deadlock to plug in and get it over with— that was what Ratchet  _ wanted _ him to do— but instead Deadlock lowered himself onto his elbows between Ratchet’s thighs and dragged his broad tongue along Ratchet’s heated valve pleats. 

“Please— don’t,” Ratchet begged, turning his helm away so he wouldn’t have to look at Deadlock. He didn’t want Deadlock to try and make it  _ good _ for him, he didn’t want to feel good at all during this. He just wanted it to be over with. 

That only seemed to irritate Deadlock further. 

“Don’t you want me to make it good?” Deadlock snapped, claws gripping tight to the base of Ratchet’s thighs. He seemed to take that as a challenge. Instead of stopping, he pushed forward and wrapped his lips around the top of Ratchet’s valve and sucked. 

Ratchet couldn’t help the yowl of surprise when Deadlock caught his anterior node in the sloppy suck. He jerked his body away from the sensation, which only made Deadlock more frustrated, who gripped Ratchet by the hips and yanked him back. Ratchet covered his face with his servos, the shame of the situation settling in as his valve did nothing but throb.

“What the frell do you want, then?” Deadlock growled, claws curling into the seams around Ratchet’s hips.

“I don’t  _ want _ this,” Ratchet spat, sitting up with his servos in fists along the recharge points of the berth. “I’m letting this happen because otherwise it could be worse, or I could  _ die. _ So I don’t  _ want _ any of this, Drift, I want it to be  _ done!” _

Deadlock’s servos pulled away. He sat with his hands on his knees, looking down over Ratchet, just staring– Ratchet’s valve helpfully reminded him that he was still unfulfilled.

“Tell me how to do it then,” Deadlock said, his voice carrying just a hint of static like he was holding himself back. Ratchet didn’t want to think of what may lay behind Deadlock’s stoic wall. Already he was having to reconcile more than he had ever been prepared for. 

Ratchet took the time to think about it, before he settled, and spoke up, “Turn me over, on my knees.”

Though he looked disappointed, Deadlock didn’t defy Ratchet. He helped turn Ratchet over onto his knees and waited until the medic was situated comfortably before he put his servos back on Ratchet’s waist. 

“What next?” Deadlock murmured, his searching servos teasing Ratchet’s kibble. 

Ratchet wanted to tell him to keep his servos to himself, that he wasn’t entitled to just grabbing at whatever he thought looked nice— but his frame held a distinctly different opinion. Ratchet arched into Deadlock’s groping, all while he clenched his fists and held back his mewls. 

When he’d caught his vents, Ratchet finally said, “Let out your spike. Rub against me to spread the lube around.”

It felt like he was instructing more than directing. 

Ratchet stared between his thighs as Deadlock extended his spike. It was fancier than Ratchet’s own, a dark blue, close to black, shaft with silver studs in two rows along the underside. The platelets were braided along the top to create a delicate ridge that would no doubt stimulate different valve nodes in different positions. There was obvious modding work around the base, though it would be impossible to tell what kind of mod Deadlock had before it activated. Ratchet hoped it didn’t activate at all. 

“I want to put it in,” Deadlock rumbled from above. His servos rested on Ratchet’s hips to guide him into a hot, teasing grind between their arrays. Deadlock’s spike spread Ratchet’s valve lips as he rocked against him, teasing the head of his cord against Ratchet’s anterior node. 

Ratchet was already primed for penetration. He knew there was nothing he could say that would justify prolonging this. He was even starting to wonder why he wanted to deny himself at this point. He was well lubricated, his heat protocols had been in effect for a while, Deadlock could just slide in— 

He had to stay in control. 

Ratchet grit his dentae and reached back behind him to hold onto Deadlock’s spike as he drew back. It was– unfortunately very easy, to guide the tapered head of Deadlock’s spike into his clenching valve.

“Short thrusts,” Ratchet coached, before a low groan was pulled from him. Deadlock’s hips rotated as he pulled back, then pushed forward abruptly. Ratchet pretended he didn’t hear the undignified squeal that came out of his vocoder. “Oh,  _ frag–” _

“You’re so wet,” Deadlock growled, his servos sliding from Ratchet’s hips to over his middle. The whole of his weight pressed down on Ratchet’s frame then, and the whole bed fell out from under Ratchet. Deadlock pumped his hips in quick, shallow thrusts that eased his spike in deeper with every push. Ratchet realized, with a dawning horror, that he was losing control. Despite that, his frame was reacting in kind to Deadlock’s stimulation, and it didn’t hurt that Deadlock’s spike was working him open magnificently.

Ratchet wasn’t sure how it happened, but he found himself standing above his frame, looking down. He watched himself lose focus as Deadlock took charge of his frame and hammered him into the berth. Deadlock’s spike was working deep in him at that point, punishing his ceiling node every time he rutted forward. It left him numb, at the same time as sensation overtook him and overwhelmed him.

He was back in his body only moments later, face grinding into the berth with a trail of drool down his chin. He clawed at the berth, knees dug under himself to keep Deadlock from shoving him up every time he thrust in. Ratchet tried to remind himself this wasn’t right, he should say to stop– and then Deadlock’s fingers were on his node, and all his thoughts melted.

“I want to see you,” Deadlock grunted. He pulled out of Ratchet, only to manhandle Ratchet onto his back. This time the penetration was smoother, his valve already lax and opened up, and Ratchet moaned in tandem with Deadlock as their hips met again. “Wish it hadn’t been like this, but Primus– frag, you’re amazing!”

The reminder that he wasn’t in his right mind, that he wouldn’t normally be enjoying this, only sickened Ratchet further. His armor clattered every time Deadlock fucked into him, eliciting punched-out moans every time their hips clanged together. Ratchet realized, dimly, he was looking down on himself again, and the blissed out look on his faceplate numbed him more than humiliated.

Ratchet latched his legs around Deadlock’s hips, even daring to squeeze every time he thrust in. His valve was drooling, lubricant spreading across Deadlock’s thighs every time he slammed in, and,  _ oh, _ Ratchet was seeing  _ stars. _

“I’m- I’m gonna come,” Deadlock panted, his dauntless pace stuttering for only a moment. Ratchet found with each punishing thrust in, he cared less and less how little control he had. Coding-deep contentment settled his frame in relaxation as Deadlock buried himself root deep into Ratchet. 

Ratchet turned his focus to his aching valve, still hot and throbbing around Deadlock, and circled his node with firm, quick movements. Even as he went still with overload, Ratchet could see Deadlock watching. Ratchet moaned as a rush of fluid coated his valve channel, and his overload hit him in an abrupt wave of pleasure. Valve fluttering, Ratchet didn’t feel the knot initiating. He wailed, soft into Deadlock’s neck as it stretched his rim and prolonged his overload. 

Having barely noticed he had locked all his limbs around Deadlock, Ratchet loosened his death grip to allow Deadlock to grind him into the berth. “Knnnot,” Ratchet gasped out, his optics flickering as charge pulsed through him in time with the transfluid coating his insides. He flung his helm back as Deadlock chewed on his neck cables, grunting on impact.

“You feel so good,” Deadlock gasped out, still rutting his knot into Ratchet to chase the pleasure. “You’re so wet, feels like my knot could slip out.” 

Something nagged at the back of Ratchet’s processor as their frames melded together in one continuously moving form. Ratchet’s valve followed Deadlock’s knot, and every tug made him whimper and cling tighter. He groaned and his helm rolled to the side as another overload rose up through his array. 

What had he been trying to remember?


End file.
